For Us
by violetdoodlebug
Summary: "But her curiosity grows about what exactly he does in the middle of the night. Every once and awhile she'll find him on the couch in the mornings, and while he claims her snoring and starfishing habits are the culprit, his eyes tell a different story. " NCIS LA Fic Exchange. Tw for mental health topics.


a/n: This was my contribution to the NCIS LA Fic Exchange Challenge on tumblr. However, to be completely honest with you, it deserves some context.

I will drop the remainder of this A/n at the bottom of this fic in order not to detract from it.

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For Us

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She remembers the gentle way his hand slipped around her waist as she stuck the key into the lock of his new home for the first time, how his touch warmed her skin even through her shirt. It was one of those tiny moments between them that she really cherished- when everything about them felt good and right.

It was the kind of safe she was okay with- not like the safe they'd been before they became bold and all in. But instead being here with him allowed her to let her guard down, and be protected from all the shit the world threw at them on a regular basis.

This house had become a sanctuary for her long before she actually moved into it. Moving in together was obviously practical for them, but besides that, it was also a relationship milestone. Moving in was a sign of something permanent, real, and for them, something equivalent to a small earthquake. Maybe a 2.0 in magnitude. Enough to shake the ground, but not enough to crack the foundation they had worked to build together.

She had noticed his apprehension about their big move. She probably would have thought more about it, but then Jack came along. But suddenly then, it seemed fine. Deeks ended up being fine, or so Kensi thought. The past was running out of ways to ruin her future, their future. And that night, after noodles and dropping some of her many boxes on the living room floor, the love they made erased the whole day from her mind. He took her breath away. He always would. That's just who he is, just who they had become.

But that didn't mean she'd exactly unpacked. Her stuff was littered everywhere, but there were still boxes that had worked their way into the hidden corners of their bedroom, untouched since they were placed there. She decided one night to pick up one box and go through it- she'd of course been feeling a little guilty about her messiness and clutter filled lifestyle. She needed something to take the edge off her conscious, and the box appeared less intimidating than their current bathroom situation.

Deeks and Monty were on a walk, so she had a few moments to herself when she pulled the box atop their bed. Carefully, she lifted the tape off and unfolded the flaps. Most of the contents were insignificant, socks, a belt, a pair of shorts. Leave it to her to pack in the most illogical way possible. She pulled the rest of the clothes out of the box, and then something small and round flicked out and landed on their comforter. She paused, unsure of what she'd found. She reached out to pick it up, and suddenly she was holding her father's watch in her palm.

She carried his knife, his medal was one of her most prized possessions- but somehow still, things like this throw her off guard. A lot. It suddenly was heavy in her hand, holding the weight of meaning as it sunk into her.

Lost in her own head, she failed to notice Deeks returning with Monty and sneaking into their room. He slipped his strong, muscular arms around her waist, and it startled her but she quickly relaxed. His voice was quiet and steady when he whispered into her ear, his hot breath against her neck, "Whatcha got there?"

She released the breath she didn't know she was holding. "My dad's watch."

She loved him for many reasons, but what she appreciated most about him was how well he handled the subject of her father. Kensi Blye wasn't fragile, but she needed handled with care in regards to her father and he knew that. He didn't make a big deal out of it though, he just took care of it. He took care of her.

"I know you're going through this box because you're feeling guilty about being messy, but I don't expect you to get rid of his stuff, you know that right?"

She did know it. But it still got to her some days how good he was. Of all the dark things he had to do and had to endure in his past, he made a good man of himself. And a man that was way too good to her in _every_ way possible. He pulled her through. He always helped her find okay.

He leaned in to place a kiss against her temple, and it reminded her to speak.

"Yeah, I just…" words failed her.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "Let's find a good spot for it, okay? So it doesn't get damaged."

He gently slipped away from her and headed toward the nightstand. He pulled open the bottom drawer and began rustling around inside it. He pulled out a few things and laid them atop the stand as he rearranged things.

Kensi wandered over to him as he gently placed a silver ring upon the top of the wood. Her eye caught it, and she reached out for it. She ran her thumb over the ring, the metal cool to the touch, and the smooth polished stone on the top.

He located a vacancy in the drawer, a safe looking box that would protect the watch. "Would this work, Kens?"

"Mmhm," she agreed. "What's this?"

He glanced up from his spot on the floor to see the ring pressed between her thumb and index finger. To be honest, he hadn't even really processed uncovering it from the drawer, let alone allowing it to be out in the open. But when he thought about it, the less it mattered to him that she'd found it. His past was far from hidden to her. He could explain his sentiment and she would get it.

Because she always did.

After his own moment of thought, he stood and rubbed his own thumb over the garnet stone. "That's my high school class ring."

She knew there had to be a story behind his cobalt eyes, and waited patiently for him to tell it.

"My mom and I, you know, we did okay. But we didn't have a lot of money lying around. I didn't want to ask her to buy me one. It just felt wrong to me. I knew if I did ask, she'd cut some corner to get me one, some corner she didn't need to cut. So I saved for it in secret, To this day, she never knew I bought it."

She stared at the ring for a moment longer as she processed all that it symbolized. His past, his determination, his hard work, his inner goodness. And something about it makes her heart swell with pride- _her Deeks._ His class ring. His history.

"I love it," she said, and it threw him off for a second. "Do you mind if I hold on to it?" He didn't understand her epiphany, and gave her a strange look. He couldn't imagine what she'd want it for, but he couldn't care less. Things change meaning over time, and to him, the ring was just another piece of his past.

"As long as you don't show it to my mom, I don't really care," he said, shrugging it off with a yawn. "I need a shower. Care to join?"

She shook her head. "I'll grab one in the morning."

With a press of his lips to her forehead and a softly whispered "okay," he was off. Once he was in the bathroom door closed behind him, she put away the rest of the box's contents, folded it up and tossed it in the pile where other empty boxes had collected. As she changed and settled into bed, Monty hopped up and joined her. She didn't have the heart to turn the pup away.

As she lay in bed, fingers curled into Monty's thick fur, his ring securely wrapped around her thumb, she couldn't help but imagine her Deeks as a seventeen year old, an immature young man, but somehow still wise beyond his years. Wounded, but stronger and tougher than nails, or dare she think, bullets.

By the time she got out of the shower, she was asleep.

She sincerely fell in love with his class ring. But her thumb wasn't a great permanent storage place. It was too visible, awkward, and plainly impractical to tote it around on her thumb. She wasn't the biggest jewelry person in the first place, but she had an idea for the ring and decided that she would test it out.

Her hair was getting long again, so she'd scheduled an appointment to get that taken care of at her usual salon near the mall. After her appointment, she toted over to the mall and bought a the cheapest silver chain at the closest jewelry counter.

When she got back to her car, she reached into the her clutch and pulled the ring out. Slowly, she slipped it onto the chain. Then, she carefully pulled the clasp around her neck. She tucked the ring under the collar of her shirt and it was concealed there, safe up against her heart. Her plan might work. It might work just fine.

But soon afterward, Deeks starts talking about shoes dropping and things crumbling and frankly, it scares her a little believed what she told him. She believed that they should just enjoy things being good, because things between them were good. But as cases came and went, she noticed slight and subtle changes in her love that were starting to concern her.

His surfing habits diminished. He was spending less time out on the water, and not because they were having more intimate mornings than usual either. But he also seemed more tired and sluggish. He was, as always, eager for sex, but she could tell he was exhausted. His work wasn't interfered, he always had her six in the field. She first thought that it was just a couple of long cases catching up to him, but it wasn't until Sam brought it up that it became real to her.

She was beating the tar out of a bag in the gym when Sam approached her. Their talks were always deep, and she wasn't expecting one that morning.

"Is Deeks okay?"

And certainly, she wasn't expecting him to be asking about Deeks. Naturally, she paused at his question. She really wasn't quite used to this side of Sam. She knew he could be a caring and gentle giant, but not really on the subject of Martin Deeks. However, she didn't question the boundaries that Siderov had forever altered between the two men.

"Yeah," she replied. "He's good."

"He isn't himself anymore, and you know it. This morning when I joked about his boatshed shower and he replied with, 'Okay.' Kensi, you know something isn't right here."

"We're good, Sam," she replied hastily, huffing and giving the bag another hard punch.

He stepped in front of her. "I didn't ask that. I asked if _he_ was good."

It was the stern tone in his voice that really scared her. She was concerned, sure, but now even more so. Something wasn't right. She knew it, Sam knew it, a lot of people probably knew it.

She needed to talk to Deeks before something happened that could really get him hurt. Whether that be in the line of duty or just in his head and heart, both meant the world to her.

"I don't know Sam," she said. "But I'm going to find out."

When they got home from work, it was as if everything were completely normal. They debated take out options and he walked Monty while she picked out _Top Model_ reruns. They ate on the couch and both nursed a beer. But she kept glancing at his eyes, seeing the deep gloss to them.

"You tired, Deeks?"

"I'm okay," he said, followed by a long yawn as his body betrayed him. "Maybe just a little."

"You know, if there's something wrong, we can talk about it. I want to help."

He shook his head, his rugged curls flopping about. "I'm fine Kens."

But she could feel in her bones how untrue that was. The concern in Sam's eyes flashes back to her. _Something is wrong. Deeks is lying to you. Again._

"You're lying to me. I thought we talked about this."

When he heard the world lie, she saw his reaction. They had talked about this, more than once, lying to try to save her grief and pain only hurt them both ten times more. She knew that her pain was one of his few weaknesses. But despite what all she saw in his eyes and body language, he still replied with, "I'm not lying to you."

But something is wrong and you aren't telling me what it is."

He swirled his beer around in the bottom of the bottle, his nerves evident. She could see in his eyes the desire to tell her whatever it was, but either he didn't have the heart, or he couldn't get his voice to work.

She reached over, placing her hand on his knee, and began rubbing it around gently. "I'm ready to hear about it whenever you're ready to talk about it. But don't pretend there's nothing going on. I know you better than that, and you should know that."

He nodded. "Okay, but… don't worry about it. It's nothing to do with Internal Affairs- nothing like that."

"I believe you," she said. "Now, let's go to bed. You look like hell."

In bed, she curled up around him, though usually, he cuddled her. She whispers quiet devotions of her love against his ear, and he smiled. He whispers "I love you," back softly, and soon her breathing evens out as she falls to sleep, unaware of the guilt that is gnawing feverishly at his soul.

She woke up at two AM. She was alone.

It hurt to wake up, reach out for him and find an empty bed.

She knew him well enough to know he wasn't off with another woman. They were it for one another, she knew that. But there was a place deep in her soul that hadn't recovered from being hurt, and the emptiness of their bed was ripping open that wound.

And she didn't find herself alone just once. But the once was enough for her. She pulled herself out of bed with the full intent of going out looking for him. She got as far as putting a sports bra and a pair of sweatpants on before making it to the stairwell, where she then saw a light on down in the kitchen and clanking around in the sink, the water running.

She felt a little silly, so she went back to their bedroom, slipping off her sweats and falling back into bed. He returned soon thereafter, but she didn't rouse or say a word, but remained still, as if she were asleep.

As time passed, she noticed small changes in his behavior. As nights passed, she found him downstairs more and more. But his spirits seemed to lift, even ever so slightly. He still wasn't himself by any means, but she was less concerned about his daytime behavior. She began to see him go out on more surfs, smile more around OPS, and hit her with his hearty beautiful laugh that she hadn't even realized she missed.

Their sex life even saw these little improvements, again, with the things she hadn't realized she missed. She was always his priority, but somehow even with something clearly going on with him, that never changed. But when she felt lips pressed against her skin and could just feel his scruff burning her as his lips smiled, she realized she hadn't felt that sensation in months- since they'd moved in together to be exact.

She wants to kick herself for not noticing these little things more and not appreciating him for who he is.

So slowly, she does. She says "I love you," more often, she kisses him more freely. She finds herself letting him pick out movies and shows and takeout in the evenings. She sits on the countertop and talks to him when he wants to cook dinner.

And she can see that while he doesn't feel good about what is happening, she's helping.

But her curiosity grows about what exactly he does in the middle of the night. Every once and awhile she'll find him on the couch in the mornings, and while he claims her snoring and starfishing habits are the culprit, his eyes tell a different story.

After weeks, she couldn't take it anymore. She needed to know what was going on, and so when she woke up, she quietly crept down the stairs.

She sees him before he's aware of her presence. He's sitting at the table, a glass of water in front of him. He has a pen in his hand, and he's writing quickly in a notebook. She notices the tension in his muscles, but as he continues writing, she watches it dissipate little by little. She stands there for two or three minutes, observing this scene. His handwriting loops and curls down the page, until he reaches some sort of conclusion and he stops and signs the work. Then, she decides to step into his line of vision as he closes the notebook.

"Baby, you okay?" she calls, walking toward him. He's in no hurry to push the notebook away or put his pen down, despite knowing that she can see it.

"Yeah," he says, standing to kiss her forehead. He picks the glass of water up and pulls it to his lips. "Just getting a drink. Did I wake you when I got up? I'm sorry."

"No, I just woke up and you were gone."

He pushes her hair out of her eyes. There's an unspoken message that dances across their eyes. A moment of release, of letting go. He knows that he's been caught- whatever he's been up to, she's discovered. She knows, but she also knows nothing. Neither of them mention the notebook. Whatever he was writing, he wasn't trying to hide it.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" he asks softly. She nods and hand in hand, she follows him up the stairs and back to their bedroom. She curls into him, and his arms wrap around her as strong as ever.

Whatever was in that notebook was the answer. She fought the urge to go investigate it the following morning while he was walking Monty. She wanted to know, but she was also afraid to know.

But a week and a half later when she awoke with the urge to pee, but found her bed empty and the light on downstairs, she knew it was time. Two mornings later he woke her gently, announcing that he was heading to catch the waves down in Venice. She declined his invitation. But with Monty at her heels, she took herself into the kitchen to investigate the notebook. She took it in one hand and made herself comfortable on their couch.

With her thumb, she began to flip through irrelevant pages, old grocery lists and a few phone numbers and recipes, and other scribbles they'd collected over time. A third of the way through she began encountering big blocks of text in Deeks' penmanship, but when she located the first page, the first words upon it surprised her.

 _Dear Kensi,_

Before allowing herself to continue, she looked and saw that page after page, every one began with the same two words. _Dear Kensi._

These were letters to her. Every single one, dated back to the night she accused him of lying to her.

The first letter read:

 _Dear Kensi,_

 _There came a point in my life that I decided I wanted to marry you. I don't think it was any specific moment- it simply came about with you just being who you are and making me a better man in the process. I like being better for you._

 _But when you said that I was lying to you, I knew that I was. Again. The last time I lied to you, I swore I'd never do it again. Yet I didn't Kens. I've been doing it for far too long._

 _Since we've moved in together, my nightmares have been getting worse. The screaming has been under control it seems, which has made it much easier to hide from you. I know you know I've had them in the past, and that you have them too. But a lot of times now, they're about you. And I don't know how to talk to you about this. Our communication was so much better, and look what I've done to that. But how do I tell you that I have regular dreams about your murder?_

 _I've been writing them down, these dreams, in this notebook since that night. You don't have to read them, but I want you to be able to. Because I trust you with every part of me. And I'm not okay with lying to you. You deserve the truth, no matter how you think of me after reading this. I love you. I always have, and I always will._

 _I'm so sorry._

 _M. Deeks_

Her eyes can barely focus on the words he's written for her, unable to grasp what she's looking at. She can feel the guilt and fear radiating off of the paper. There's such a sting in what he means by _no matter how you think of me after reading this,_ as if anything could change how much she loves him.

But perhaps the not so subtle reminder that he wants to marry her and has wanted to marry her for quite a while makes her dizzier than his serious confessions. It was an inappropriate response, as she recognized the immense weight of the letters she was about to read.

There was really no way to prepare for all the versions of her death or almost death his brain had created. She couldn't prepare herself to read the amount of times he almost lost his life or sanity trying to save her from the dream captors. She couldn't prepare for the number of times he wrote the words, " _I'm sorry, Kensi,"_ and she couldn't prepare for the tears that streamed down her face as she read.

It was almost seamless how he could write these experiences, recalling a dream of her rape or brutal torture to then tell her how watching her sleep was the only thing that got him through the night sometimes. She isn't sure how a mind that could create such ugly scenarios could also craft such beautiful words of devotion.

She couldn't help but lose it. She needed him here in her arms, to hug him and kiss him and reaffirm her love for him and to convince him to seek the help he so definitely needed. She felt so overwhelmed by everything she discovered, that she hadn't noticed that her hand had tangled itself around the chain on her neck. The cool metal wasn't nestled between her breasts but above her heart, but instead buried in her palm. She pulled his class ring to her lips.

She thought of him again, the young blond haired boy who bought this ring. His drive, his spirit, his strength. The tears flowed harder.

She was still a hot mess when he opened the door, returning home from his surf. His hair was damp, and it only aided his curls.

He barely got out a hello before his eyes caught the notebook sitting in her lap. They widened, his pupils dilating as they saw her damp face.

"Kensi, I…" he began. But she couldn't. She couldn't let him apologize again, because if any apology was needed, it was from her to him.

"Stop," she tossed the notebook away and stood, though she felt weak in her knees. She stood in front of him, slipping her fingers in between his. "I love you so damn much Deeks. Nothing, nothing at all is going to change that."

He sucked in a breath quickly, as if he was having trouble believing her. But she believed, she had to believe he knew that, but wasn't letting himself depend on it.

"Did you," he asked softly, "read it all?"

She nodded slowly. "I don't care about the lie Deeks. You told me. You told me everything. And I love you. But you can't live like this." Her hand tightened around this.

"It's fine, I've been doing a little better since I started writing this…" he started, attempting to squirm away from her. She wouldn't have it.

"No. You've struggled since Siderov, Deeks. I can't cure everything, I can't make this better for you on my own." It didn't pain her to say it, but he didn't like hearing it. "You deserve to feel as happy as you want me to feel. We can get married Deeks, live together for the rest of our lives. But we can't do that when you feel like shit all the time. When you can't sleep through the night. We don't have to keep living like this."

She knew he never thought about how his pain affected her. He knew his lies to protect her never solved anything, but never processed how essential his happiness was to hers. She'd struck a nerve. He was crying as hard as she was.

"Let's get help, okay? For you, for us." She guided their interlocked hands up to the chain and then closes his fingers around his ring. "For this boy."

 _That ring._ She had it, wore it this whole time. It isn't the diamond he'd like it to be, but nonetheless symbolic. He'd known she had it, but she'd never really let him see her wear it. With it, she's implying to him that the universe should in fact have something good in store from the southern California boy who saw too much and got hurt too many times and kept fighting even when the odds were against him. She's moved him profoundly. She's not going anywhere. She's here for the long hall. Whatever is wrong, she'll be there to see him through it. She's offering him her everything. No matter how dark or how deep. _All in._

As he loses himself in her unconditional love for him, he whispers, "okay."

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a/n: This summer was interesting from my side of the globe.

We saw that Deeks' lying habits really hurt Kensi during the IA investigation, and that created some of the angst in the fic I wrote. But the encounter with Jack and the mention of Deeks' nightmares came to play to. You see, my problem this summer was my own mental health. I lost control of my own life this summer. And this fic is the thought child of my own insanity.

Like the resolution of this fic, I too finally sought help. I encourage anyone fighting this hard to do the same. You're worth feeling better, even though it's hard. And it has been unbelievably hard, but slowly I'm getting better. This fic really was a catalyst in recognizing my own need for help. Thank you for letting me write and process that need in my life.


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